At the Dance Club: Power, Beauty, Influence, Inspiration

At an undisclosed dance club I witnessed power of a sort I had never seen before.  A lone woman in her mid-twenties wandered onto the dance floor during a brief pause between songs.  Her skin was tanned.  Her black hair gave off a rainbow sheen that shifted in the dim lights of the club.  It hung to her shoulders and swayed from side to side as she glided to the center of the dance floor.  Where other women in the club wore elegant dresses with low necklines, she wore a simple pink tank top and white shorts that revealed an athletic body with soft curves.  Where the other women wore high heels and lustrous footwear, the woman in the pink tank top wore only flip-flops.

In the idle moment between songs, the throng on the dance floor milled about, sipped martinis, laughed and yelled at a volume still adjusted to the music that had just cut off.  They took no notice of the woman in the pink tank top who had wandered into their midst.

Then, the music resumed.  Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop The Music” issued from the speakers and the woman in pink began to undulate to the song’s rhythm.  The music worked its way slowly through her, from her hips to her arms and her legs, even to the tips of her slender fingers, until the whole of her being became a physical extension of the music that pervaded the club.  Her movements rippled through the throng on the dance floor as waves of gravity through space, and, slowly at first, but with quickening speed, the dancers around her fell into her orbit.  Their movements mirrored her own.  Their bodies turned toward hers.  First one man joined her, then another.  These men flew in like comets, and like comets they soon hurtled outward after their brief encounter with the sun at the center of their solar system. 

The woman in pink danced at first with her eyes closed, lost in the music yet aware of everyone around her.  Then she opened her eyes and in an instant rested them on everyone in the club, as if every dancer enjoyed her undivided attention.  Each person felt her stare as a private linking of souls, as if they alone existed in her world.

When the music stopped, the woman in the pink tank top stopped dancing, too.  The solar system that had coalesced around her flew apart in an instant and scattered in all directions.  As she glided off the floor, as inconspicuously as she had glided onto it, some of the dancers whom she had drawn into her orbit stared after her as planets longing after their wayward sun. 

What is power?  There’s brute force power—the power to force action in others.  There’s power in beauty and grace, in movement and skill.  There’s power in doing something well and inspiring awe in those around you.  There’s power in suggestion, in planting seeds of thought and action in those around you and waiting for them to act of their own accord, influenced by your suggestion, but not forced or coerced into action.  The power of influence spreads surreptitiously.  It ripples from its source like waves in a pond, often accidentally.  Brute force bangs its chest and howls, makes itself known through volume, because in these acts lies its power.  It barks and flexes its muscles, shakes its fists, and sometimes levels blows against those whom it wishes to control. 

The woman in the pink tank top walked into a club knowing no one.  She danced with grace, skill and beauty.  She drew people into her orbit in spite of herself, not in an effort to control, but because she was herself.  She was authentic.  She was joyful.  Maybe it’s a mistake to use the terms “power” and “influence” to describe what she possessed.  Maybe the better word to use would be “inspiration.”  The woman in the pink tank top inspired a crowd of people she did not know to array themselves around her and to dance to her rhythm, to give rise to something transcendent, an organized system that didn’t exist before her arrival.  A person may play the violin to perfection; she may sculpt statues with precision or write computer code as poets craft verses.  A person may simply show kindness.  Any of these acts, done well, can inspire.

About atomsofthought
Photographer. Traveler. Writer. Reader.

5 Responses to At the Dance Club: Power, Beauty, Influence, Inspiration

  1. Steveb says:

    In writing this, you’ve demonstrated a power as clear as that of the dancer’s.

  2. Penny says:

    Beautiful story. You have a good writing style, this was really good. I can relate to this woman with the pink tank top-I love to dance-and it would not be pass me to get up on a dance floor and dance to a tune that moved me spiritually within the tune’s creative design.

    • Thank you! I was mesmerized by her dancing. And it wasn’t about flaunting anything, or being provocative. She was just REALLY good at dancing, and she communicated the joy she felt through her movements.

  3. skippingstones says:

    very well written. You sucked me in with great sensorial prose and then hit me with the question of Power. And she did hold a power – over the crowd as they danced, over you as you observed, over me as I read.

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